


every single one's got a story to tell

by confusedrambler



Series: The Hungry City [4]
Category: Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Gen, Gen Work, Lois & Clark Puppy Days, Lois Lane-centric, Mentions of other DC characters - Freeform, Mixed Media, Stand Alone, canon is whatever I want it to be, surprise it's been the 80s THE WHOLE TIME
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedrambler/pseuds/confusedrambler
Summary: It was sheer nepotism that got Lois Lane her job at the Daily Planet. She's determined to prove she's got the chops to make it as a big time reporter anyway.If that hick from Smallville in the mail room doesn't get her fired or murdered first.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Lois Lane
Series: The Hungry City [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1378894
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	every single one's got a story to tell

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Hungry City story. We've been playing in Gotham for a while now. Time to check in on Supes.
> 
> Apologies for any weird formatting. Let me know and I'll try to fix.

“Lane! Get in here!”

Lois sighed heavily and pushed away from her computer, picked her way through the maze of tables and desks that had been shoved together by one chaos gremlin or another during the day in the name of _collaboration_ , and stepped into Steven Mitchell’s office. He slammed the door shut behind her and she took a seat, reminding herself that she hadn’t actually done anything to earn Mitchell’s wrath this week. Hadn’t done anything at all, really. 

Three days into the week and there’d yet to be a crime worth reporting. She’d had to make do with a few small-time burglaries yesterday and she’d barely managed to spin a few reports of ominous lurkers into a hopelessly overdone safety piece in time for the Sunday paper the day before that. Metropolis wasn’t exactly Gotham when it came to crime; she was scraping the bottom of a dry well and everybody knew it. 

“What’s this about, Mitchell? I’ve got a date with a police scanner if I want to make my deadline.” Mitchell tromped over to his desk, thin face blotchy with what she assumed was rage; it usually was.

“It’s _Mr._ Mitchell to you, Lane,” he spat. “And you know exactly what this is about.” He picked up a thin folder and flung it at her. She caught it just before it flew open and scanned the anonymous report inside. It was typed up neatly enough, but clumsily written; the phrasing was reminiscent of a high school essay. That in and of itself wasn’t particularly unusual in early write-ups. What made her mouth drop open was the article’s contents— an accusation that a local big-shot was involved in a ring that supplied the city’s elite with the latest and greatest designer drugs. She glanced up at Mitchell and back at the article, eyes huge.

“Sir, I’ve never seen this before in my life.”

“Don’t try to deny it, Lane. This smacks of your kind of reporting. Dragging one of Metropolis’s most upstanding citizens— and a well-known benefactor of the Daily Planet, to boot— through the mud as some piss-poor attempt to prove that you’ve got what it takes to hang with the boys.” He sneered, shook a finger under her nose. “I won’t tolerate it! I don’t know what that Kent boy told you and I don’t care— we only report on true crime here, Lane.”

“Now hang on just a minute! I’m telling you, I didn’t have anything to do with this. And who the hell is Kent and what does he have to do with the price of tea in China?”

“I’m getting real tired of your act, girl. You’re the one that got him the job in the mail room and you know as well as I do that he’s been telling anyone who’ll listen about all his damn theories.”

Lois ran through her memory and let out a bark of laughter.

“That charity case that you agreed to hire after he got fired because of a story we ran? You think I’m getting information from _him_ ? Oh, please. Give me a little more credit than _that_. He’s a baby for chrissakes, he doesn’t know anything about anything!”

“Then you’d better figure out who _is_ listening to him because if one more report like this ends up on my desk, you’re fired!”

Lois narrowed her eyes.

“Yes. Sir.” She stood abruptly, back ramrod straight. “Is that all. Sir.”

He waved his hand dismissively and collapsed into his seat, a puppet with cut strings. She spun on her heel and marched out of the office, shutting the door firmly behind her. She stopped by her station long enough to turn off the police scanner and grabbed her things before heading down to the ground floor. If Mitchell was going to threaten her, she was going straight to the source.

When she reached the mail room, she stopped short and almost left, convinced she must have the wrong place. Instead of a room flooded with rolling carts of mail to be sorted and various filing cabinets and cubbies oozing paper, she found neat stacks of letters secured with rubber bands and packages pigeon-holed into cubbies and a broad figure bent in half over the only rolling cart in the room that still had mail inside.

She cleared her throat.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Kent. He here today, by chance?”

The man startled and straightened abruptly— though in actuality, straight for him was more reminiscent of a crooked stack of books or an unevenly layered cake. His glasses almost flew off his face and he caught them self-consciously, pressing them back up to the bridge of his nose. He was tall in a gangly, awkward sort of way. All knees and elbows below those broad shoulders. His face was still rounded with baby fat and the complete lack of facial hair was almost unnerving. He looked unfinished— a half-carved statue or maybe just a year-old pup, all paws and floppy ears. His smile was shy, just the hint of bright white teeth visible and when you considered the way his head tilted when he looked at someone and the way his shoulders slumped towards the floor as if gravity was a fight that couldn’t be won, you were so busy _considering_ that the fact that he was at least six feet tall seemed completely irrelevant.

“That’s me,” he said, in a warm tenor. “I’m Clark Kent. And you’re Lois Lane.”

“You remembered,” she said. Something in her was completely unsurprised.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Your story got me fired, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure I apologized for that. And I got you the job here, so far as I’m concerned we’re even.”

He shrugged.

“Guess so. I don’t reckon I mind, really. Working at the hardware store was kind of boring, anyhow. And if I got fired for talking to people, well… guess it just wasn’t the job for me.”

“Right,” she said. “So, hate to cut to the chase here, but I’m on a tight schedule. Rumor has it there’s been some weird article proposals ending up on my boss’s— Steven Mitchell’s— desk and he thinks it has something to do with you. Know anything about that?”

He brightened.

“Oh, so he has been getting them! I was getting worried— I hadn’t seen any of them in the paper yet, but I was sure I’d put them on the right desk.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Lois stretched out one hand, pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. “ _You_ put them on his desk? You _wrote_ them?”

“Course I did,” Kent said with a grin. “I used to write for my school paper. And Mr. Mitchell okays all the stories on crime that run in the paper, right?” His smile fell, eyebrows knitting together. “Or is that someone else’s job? Did I put them on the wrong editor’s desk? Is that why none of them ran?”

“None of them ran because you can’t just write whatever you want, Kent! Especially not about people like Eoin Fleming. We aren’t _The Inquirer_ ; we only report the facts, not crazy conspiracy theories.”

Kent frowned.

“It’s not a conspiracy theory. He really is involved in a drugs ring.”

“Can you prove it?” She said sharply.

“Well, I—”

“That sounds like a no. Lesson number one, Kent. You can _not_ make accusations against _anyone_ without proof positive. If you say the wrong thing about the wrong person, you’ll end up dead, kid.”

“I don’t think—”

“ _Dead_ ,” she drew a finger across her throat, eyes narrowed, then stabbed the same finger at his chest. “And if you don’t stop writing those reports, I’ll kill you myself.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, half-whining and a little petulant.

“Why? I’m just trying to _help_.”

“What you’re doing is not helpful, Kent. What _you’re_ doing is going to get _me_ fired.”

Kent startled.

“Why would you get fired for something I did?”

“Because it’s a man’s world, Kent. And as far as Peeve Bitch-all is concerned, the only reason I got the job at the Planet is because I’m Daddy’s little girl. He’s been looking for an excuse to fire me since day one.”

“But that’s not fair.”

Lois laughed and laughed.

“Kid, when has life ever been fair?”

Kent frowned again.

“Stop calling me that. I’m not a kid.”

She quirked an eyebrow.

“Beg to differ.”

“I’m _nineteen_.”

“Oh, honey. It’s a well-known fact that all men are babies until they’re at least twenty-five.”

“You can’t be that much older than me!”

“Old enough. Everyone knows that girls mature faster than boys. I’ve been grown since I was eighteen.” She said with the infinite wisdom of her twenty-three years. “Tell you what, though. You stop writing those articles and I’ll take pity on you, show you the ways of the world.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “Stop being difficult and I’ll help you get promoted.”

“How are you going to do that?” He sounded suspicious, blue eyes guarded. She shrugged, crossed her arms.

“Should be easy enough. You’re not completely hideous, you’re male, like to talk to people, and you can string a sentence together on paper. Most of my work is already done. I’ve just got to teach you not to be a complete moron.”

“I don’t know, Lois… you just said your boss doesn’t like you.”

“I can’t help that he’s a prick, Kent. Besides, you don’t belong in my department— I’m gonna get you in with Cat Grant and her rumor mill. She’s got a weakness for baby blues and other gossips; you’ll fit right in. Give me three months and I’ll have you an in. Deal?”

Kent stared at her hand, took it gingerly, as if he might get bitten.

“Deal.”

—-

Lois came in to a neatly typed report summary on her desk— another accusation against a bigshot in town. She folded the pages in half, darted a look around and stuffed the pages into her purse. Without bothering to take off her jacket, she rushed down to the ground floor and burst into the mail room. There was no one in sight, but there was a small bell on the counter. She dinged it furiously, slamming the button until Kent appeared from the back room.

“Coming, coming— hold your horses.” When he caught sight of who it was, he pulled up short, looming up tall for half an instant before collapsing back into his usual crooked, slumping posture. “Lois Lane. What can I do for you?”

She grabbed the papers from her purse and shook them, hissing through her teeth.

“What the _hell_ is this? We had a deal! No. More. Reports. Are you _trying_ to get me fired?”

Kent frowned, hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.

“I thought you meant not to give them to Mitchell, not to stop writing them period. I can’t just sit on what I know, Lois. It wouldn’t be right; I have to help somehow.”

“You dope!” She thrust the papers up into his face. “If you keep writing these things, we’ll both end up dead. You’ve got information you can’t keep to yourself— fine! Call the police.”

“But what if the police are in on it?”

“This isn’t Gotham! Leave an anonymous tip and let them handle it. If they say there’s nothing to it, there’s nothing to it, Kent.”

“That’s not true! I know for a fact there’s at least two dirty officers in the force.”

She could have screamed with frustration, but she choked the noise of in her throat— a gurgling, impotent fury.

“Do you want to die?”

“ _No_ , but-”

“Good! Neither do I! So you have _got_ to stop writing this stuff down. I’d prefer you didn’t say anything about it either, but if you feel like you _have_ to tell someone your stupid theories, then I guess I’ll be the airhead that listens. But please, for the love of G-d, do _not_ write it down.”

Kent frowned, unhooked his thumbs to cross his arms, and didn’t answer. Lois narrowed her eyes.

“If _this_ ,” she gestured between the two of them. “Is going to work, you have to trust me kid. You have to listen to me when I tell you things, even if I am a woman. Can you do that or should I start looking for a new job now?”

He startled, eyes going big and liquid.

“I’m not trying to get you fired, Lois, honest. I really do just wanna help. And you being a girl ain’t a problem at all— why would it be? And besides, my ma’d tan my hide if she found out I didn’t listen just ‘cause you’re a girl.”

She sighed, shoved the papers back into her purse and scrubbed at her face.

“Jesus Christ. Where did you say you were from again, kid?”

“Smallville. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Good G-d, no wonder I blocked that out. Alright, Smallville. Lesson number two. Things are different in the big city. We’ve got different rules, different ways of talking, different ways of dressing. If you want to make it here, you’re gonna have to get over that small town country boy thing you’ve got going on. You’re gonna have to do things the way we do them and you’re gonna have to at least pretend to like it, okay?”

He shrugged, uneasily.

“I guess that makes sense. When in Rome…”

“Exactly. Step number one, you need to enroll in a college course. You work for the Daily Planet now and we’re a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. That means if you’re going to get anywhere, you have to get more of an education than that high school degree.”

“But Ma and Pa never went to college and they did just fine. And even if I wanted to, we couldn’t afford school for me.”

“‘Ma and Pa’ never left their rinky-dink little town, Smallville. If I’m remembering right, you said they’re farmers. Farmers don’t need to know how to write different types of articles or study criminal justice. Reporters do. And luckily enough for you on the financial front, the Waynes believe in continuing education. The Planet will pay for two courses a year at an in-state college of your choice; that’s one for each semester. And you only need one course under your belt to get on as an assistant to Cat Grant as a proofreader. I’ll even tutor you if you need it. Sound fair?”

“What happened to ‘life isn’t fair?’” He looked just as suspicious of her as she was of him. She softened and grinned at him; this absolute puppy of a boy needed to be shown the ropes and it might as well be her that took him in hand. He might even turn out to be an ally. 

“Life _isn’t_ fair. Lois Lane is.”

—-

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Perry laughed and gave her a side hug.

“Good to see ya, Lane. You been giving Peeve hell while I’ve been gone?”

She grinned wide enough that her cheeks ached.

“You know I have, Perry.”

“And who’s this?” He nodded at Kent, who, up until this point, had been carefully sipping at coffee and trying to avoid notice despite his six foot frame.

“This lump is Clark Kent. Prospective journalist; I’ve taken him under my wing, so be nice.”

Perry whistled and held out a hand.

“Nice to meetcha. Perry White, investigative journalist. Though, these days it seems all I cover is politicians snubbing each other. You musta done something big to catch Ms. Lane’s attention. She hardly has time for us menfolk.”

Kent smiled shyly, fringe of his bangs flopping over his eyes.

“I didn’t do much. She decided to take pity on a poor country boy, ‘s all.”

“He’s right; I pity him. And correction, Perry: I have plenty of time for men. I have zero time for bigots.”

“I am corrected, Ms. Lane. Do forgive me.”

Lois sniffed, waved a hand in dismissal.

“Forgiven. But just this once.” Her grin returned full force and she tugged Perry down to join them. “Here, have a cup of joe. Still hot, just made it myself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He poured a mug and slurped it black and piping, years of doing the same making him immune to scalding. “So what’s this I hear about a vigilante in Metropolis?”

“A vigilante?” Kent sounded puzzled.

“He’s talking about that guy that’s been seen jumping over buildings and leaving supposed criminals unconscious outside the police station with a note pinned to their shirts.”

“Yeah, that’s the punk. What’s his deal?”

“Not a clue. He’s been causing a lot of hubbub, but I don’t think he’ll last.”

“Why not?” Kent demanded. He looked a lot more interested than he had just moments ago, eyes bright and earnest.

“Because Metropolis doesn’t have that kind of crime.” Lois and Perry said together.

“Last thing we need is some loose cannon rolling through town and starting up a collective freak out among the civvies.” Perry added. “This isn’t the Wild West, son. That’s not how we do things here and this new fella better figure that out fast or he’s gonna find himself in a world of trouble.”

Lois nodded.

“Trust me, Kent. This guy’s probably just some meta trying out his new powers. He’ll stick around for a while, then he’ll wise up and skip town. That, or he’ll get run out of town by the powers that be.”

“But I think he’s doing a good job,” Kent protested. “He’s got those powers right? He should use them to help people.”

“But he’s not helping people, kid.” Perry said and took another gulp of coffee.

“He’s pulling people off the street that he alleges are criminals and dropping them off outside the police station with no evidence, just a note pinned to their chest. Can’t convict just on a note that says ‘rapist’ on it.” Lois added dryly. “Most of the people he drops end up right back on the street, but now they’re mad as hornets.”

“And from what I hear, he’s hiding his face-- imagine. You’re being mugged or something and some joker in a black tee, jeans, and a ski mask pops up. They look like just another crook, right? How are people supposed to trust someone when they can’t see their face.”

Kent looked crestfallen.

“But when this… jumper doesn’t attack them, wouldn’t the victim realize he’s there to help?” he tried. “And what about the ones that the police _do_ keep-- don’t they count for something.”

“Nah, still doesn’t balance out, see. Metropolis has her problems, but she’s not like other cities. Take Gotham. In Gotham, this sort of thing might work. Murder capital of the world, most armed robberies for three years running. Violence begets violence, after all. But in Metropolis? We have a few murders now and then. Some robberies. But our bread and butter is white collar crime.” Lois tucked her hair behind an ear as she nursed her coffee. “Tax evasion, corporate scams, designer drugs, maybe even human trafficking. But our criminals are too smart-- or too rich-- to leave behind evidence. And any evidence that does come to light gets disappeared or thrown out by the courts -- usually on the technicality that the evidence was obtained illegally. A violent vigilante isn’t going to change that. Especially since any evidence he does come up with will for sure be obtained illegally since vigilantism itself is illegal.” She shrugged. “There’s just no way it could work, kid.”

“Lane’s right. Metropolis doesn’t need a vigilante. She needs a reporter big enough and talented enough to blow everything wide open.” Perry jostled Lois’ shoulder with a grin. “And I think your friend’s gonna be the one to do it.”

“You think so?” Kent was staring at her with open hero worship, eyes wide and shining.

Perry squeezed her shoulder and she felt the barest hint of a blush rise in her cheeks as she buried her face in her coffee cup.

“For sure, kid. Lois here is gonna change the world.”

—-

Lois slid over two hot dogs with all the trimmings and bit into her own with relish.

“I just heard something interesting,” she said through a mouthful. Smallville winced, but began unwrapping his first hot dog with a hum of inquiry. “There’s been another sighting of that jumper— you know, the guy that can jump over buildings? Him. Rumor has it he left a robber tied to a street pole with a golf club.”

“Wow. Sounds impressive.” He said mildly.

“It sounds stupid,” she countered before taking another enormous bite. “They had to cut through the pole to arrest him, y’know. Guy woulda lost both hands otherwise. And it’ll cost a boatload of money to put another one up.” She waved her hot dog knowingly. “Rookie mistake, Smallville. Rookie mistake.”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that.” He deflated, took a sedate bite of his own food and tried his best to ignore Lois’ table manners.

“And that’s why I cover crimes and you’re gonna cover gossip, kid.” She wiped her hands on a napkin and snapped her fingers. “Homework, c’mon. Lemme see what you’ve got.”

He handed over a paper covered front and back in neat cursive. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust, but she skimmed over it and shoved it back at him.

“Not bad, Smallville. It’ll do. Should get you a B, at least.”

He took it back with a small frown.

“A B? I spent an hour on this.”

Lois rolled her eyes.

“Which is why it’s worth a B, kid. Good reporting takes time and effort. Lesson number… what number are we on?”

“Twenty-seven,” he said dully. “Remind me again why I have to take this dumb course?”

“Because it’s free to take through the Planet and you need at least one college level writing course under your belt to get a promotion.” She said promptly. “Now quit whining and start revising.”

“I just don’t see why my experience with my high school paper doesn’t count as an internship. I read the job postings and they said if you’ve done an internship and get a letter of recommendation, they’ll hire you even if you didn’t go to college.”

Lois shook her head.

“We’ve been over this. Your itty-bitty high school in your teeny-weeny town doesn’t count for much out here. This is the best way to get that promotion. You’ve only got a few more weeks and you’ll be done. All you have to do is stick with it, pass the class, and submit your shiny new college credit to HR as a continuing education thing. Trust me, Smallville. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Last week you told me Cat thought stripes looked great with plaid and when she saw me she almost cried.”

“I meant about things that mattered. And I have it on good authority those were tears of joy— she needed a laugh and it helped solidify your rep as ‘sweet but kind of hopelessly dumb’ which is exactly what she looks for in male assistants. Everything I do is for the greater good, honest.”

—-

Lois nursed her head and groaned.

“I don’t know how you did it, Smallville, but that tip of yours was right on the money. I don’t know if should hug your neck or throttle you.”

“I prefer hugs, myself. Ma always says they’re good for the soul.”

“Oh my G-d,” she groaned. “The first story I write that’s gonna have some actual impact on the world and it’s a tip from _you_. Mitchell’s never gonna let me live this down. He was standing right there when you told me.”

He managed to shrug despite balancing a notebook, three cups of coffee, and Cat’s dry cleaning.

“You could always say ‘Thank you, Clark. That was very helpful, Clark. What would I do without you, Clark.’”

“I’d be enjoying my days at the Planet ass-hole free, that’s what. Half my headaches are named Clark, jr., y’know.”

Clark grinned boyishly. It should have been incongrous on his face, thinner than it once was- a hint of a strong squared jaw peeking behind the dwindling layer of baby fat, but the expression became him. His eyes twinkled and his face- handsome in a completely bland way- shone with charm.

“Oh, admit it, Lois. You’d hate it here if I wasn’t around. Who else are you gonna complain about Mitchell to?”

“Bite me. If you weren’t around, I’d complain to Perry. He hates Bitch-all just as much as we do. And speaking on things we hate, how’s your course with Dennis the Menace going?”

Clark groaned, head falling back.

“It’s the worst. Every time I open my mouth, he’s got something to say about my accent or my word choice or my penmanship.”

Lois quirked an eyebrow.

“Ok, everything else I can just about see. But your penmanship?”

“It’s unmanly to write in perfect cursive,” Clark said mournfully. “I can’t win for losing; when I do something badly, I’m too hick to make it in the big city. When I do something well, it’s always because I write like a girl.”

“Hey, at least you _aren’t_ a girl.” She grinned, all sharp edges. “Only English class I ever got a C in. And I’m pretty sure I only got that because if I’d failed, Daddy would’ve had _words_ for the school.” 

Clark readjusted the dry cleaning with a sigh.

“Yeah, but I don’t have those kinds of connections, Lois. It’s the last class I’ve gotta take before I can get that promotion to column writer and the way things are going, I’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of passing.”

Lois patted him on the shoulder.

“You’ll pass, Smallville. The final’s graded anonymously and it counts for half your grade, if I remember right. You pass that, you can pass the class. And I know you can do it.” She winked. “You’ve got the best tutor in the business, after all.”

He smiled weakly.

“Thanks, Lois. I better get these to Cat. Her coffee’s getting cold. See ya later, alligator.”

“Yeah, bye.” She watched him leave and sat back down at her cluttered desk with a thump. She stared at the blank page for a while, sighed, and started typing. The clack of the keys were soothing, as they always were, and soon enough she had her rhythm. She’d be finished with the new story in time to withdraw her original story and run this one in its place for the morning paper, no sweat. The biggest problem would be getting Mitchell to run it.

Mitchell was always going on about only reporting real news and true crime, knowing that she’d never be able to actually pin anyone done with real evidence. But a black market smuggling ring was as real as it got in Metropolis. She’d done her research, recorded the interview, and made photocopies of all the evidence for the case. If this story ran, it would shake up the city more than a little; it’d shut down one of the choicest restaurants in the city. She paused, then went back to typing. He’d print the story. And if he wouldn’t she’d resubmit the story tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. And the day after that.

—-

“Nice work on that story, Lane.”

“Perry! Didn’t know you were back from D.C. How was the trip?”

“Same old, same old. Buncha politicians yapping til I thought my ears would bleed. How ‘bout that Kent kid? He doing ok?”

“He’s in line for a promotion to column writer under Cat. He’s okay, still rough around the edges. Between Cat and I, we’ll whip him into shape. Who knows, he might even make a real reporter someday.”

Perry laughed.

“I hope so! Could always use more feet on the ground.” He smiled slyly, made a show of looking around for eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Lane.”

She leaned in, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, you do know how to spoil a girl. You always have the best gossip.”

“Not gossip, Lane. Don’t want word of this getting around just yet.”

She tilted her head, curiosity piqued, and mimed zipping her lips.

“Mahoney’s retiring at the end of the month.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And I’m trying out for his editing position.”

Her eyebrows flew toward her hairline.

“You want to be an Editor? Perry, what the hell, you love being a reporter!” She forced her voice to remain just beneath a stage whisper.

“I know, I know. But lately Peeve has been getting under my skin. He’s been sending me on crap assignments for months now and I’m tired of it. If I get the Editor position, I can get out from under him and help make sure that stories that deserve to be covered are. Could run more of yours, too. I know he’s been black-balling you every chance he gets, Lane. We all do.”

She shrugged, glared at her desk.

“I dunno. Do you think it’ll work?”

“I think it’s the best chance I’ve got to make this place what it should be. And I love her too much to leave her.”

She bit her lip as she thought, before nodding decisively.

“Alright. I’ll miss you around here, but I hope you can get the position. I’m rootin’ for you, Perry. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Lane. I intend to go all the way to the top. Editor in Chief, baby. That’s where I’m gonna be before I’m through with this place.”

“Yeah?” Lois smiled wickedly. “Then I’ll see ya on the flip side, Chief. Give ‘em hell.”

—-

“Lois, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

She sighed, hooked her hair behind an ear, and kept typing.

“Can it wait, Clark? I’m kind of in the middle of something here. Deadline’s in two hours.”

“Please, Lois, it’s really important.”

“Fine, fine.” She stopped typing and spun in her chair to face him. “What is it, Smallville?”

He shook his head tightly and gestured over his shoulder. She groaned but followed him out to the hall.

“What.”

“Mitchell called me into his office today.”

“What? Why?”

“He wants to give me a promotion- to investigative reporter.”

“But that’s my- you work in the society pages for the magazine, the hell is he offering you that position for? He knows I’ve been gunning for it since Perry made editor!”

“He said that he knows I’ve been doing all the work on your articles lately. He said he’s gonna get rid of you and give me the recognition I deserve.” His face crumpled in distress, but Lois hardly registered it. Her heart stopped, the rug jerked out from under her. She was scrambling for solid ground, all dry mouth and trembling hands.

“He can’t do that, can he Lois? I tried to tell him you’re doing all the research and all the writing. I’ve just been giving you ideas. He can’t fire you because of that, right?”

“I… I don’t know, Clark. He’s my boss. I think maybe he can do whatever he wants.” Her eyes sharpened. “What did you tell him about the job?”

“That I’d have to think about it first. I didn’t know what else to do. Lois, what do we do?”

“Stall him. Tell him that you’d like the job, but you want to end things with the magazine properly. He’ll respect that; it’ll buy us at least two weeks. In the meantime, I’ll talk with Perry and Cat, see if they’ve got any ideas. Don’t worry, Clark. We’ll get through this together.” She bit her lip, glared at the ground. “And if it comes to it, you take the damn job. I’d rather it be you than someone else, Smallville.”

“Lois, I couldn’t--”

“Take. The damn. Job.”

“...yeah. Alright, Lois.”

She nodded and left Clark in the hallway, retreating to the restroom. She glared at herself in the mirror, all pale skin and overbright eyes, and splashed water on her face.

“Get it together, Lane.” she muttered. “You knew he was a prick and a bigot and a-” she cut herself off and hung her head, exhaling sharply. She dried her face, fixed her makeup, and went straight to Perry’s office. She hesitated outside his door, knocked and waited for him to call her in. When he did, she let herself in to lounge in the only other chair with a crooked smile.

“Lane.”

“Perry. We’ve got a problem.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Peeve’s up to his old tricks again. He’s trying to steal Kent away from Cat to fill your old position and fire me for plagiarism.”

Perry put down his sheaf of papers.

“No way."

“Yes way.”

“No offence, Lane, but is there any chance you did--?”

“Not a chance in hell. He thinks Clark’s been writing all my recent stories for me. He overheard the kid give me a tip once and, well. Now we’re here.”

“That kid doesn’t have the chops for that position. At least, not yet. He’s still too green. He’s only been with the mag for, what six months?”

“About that long, yes. Neither of us have a hope of convincing Mitchell otherwise, though. I was hoping that you could step in on our behalf. Maybe talk him down from firing me, at least.”

Perry crossed his arms with a deep frown.

“I don’t have much control here yet, Lois. Still too new to the position. But I think maybe I could convince the other editors that we need to do a panel interview for anyone being considered for my old position. Your boy flunks the interview, he won’t get the job. And if we do it this way, I can make sure your application gets in the interview pool, at least. Can’t promise more than that.”

She smiled wryly.

“It’s the best shot we’ve got, I think. Thanks, Perry; I’ll owe you one.”

“You won’t owe me shit, Lane. We all know Mitchell’s a bad egg; if he still refuses to let this go, we might even be able to prove it.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” she said as she stood. “I’ve got to get going. Cat needs to know what’s going on and I owe her a cup of coffee.”

Perry grunted and waved her off, already making notes in a ragged flipbook. Lois shut his office door behind her and booked it across the building, taking the elevator up to the twentieth floor. She sped past a gaggle of columnists quibbling over the latest gossip and past Clark’s desk, tossing him a wink as she slipped into Cat’s office without knocking. 

Cat looked up from her phone call, smile widening when she saw who it was. She finished up her conversation with a few rapid fire questions, jotting down the responses in her looping shorthand and hung up. She popped out of her seat and sauntered over to Lois with open arms. Lois laughed and returned the hug, wrinkling her nose as her face was shoved into Cat’s shoulder pads.

“Lo-lo! It’s been ages since your last visit.”

“Hi Cat. You’re looking glam today.”

“Always do, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, this is way too juicy to spill in your office, Cat. How’s a cup of coffee sound?”

“Fantabulous, darling. I’m dying for a cappuccino.” Cat grabbed her purse and led the way out of her office, snapping orders as she went. “Kent, I’m going out. Field all my calls, please. I expect your columns on my desk before I get back, ladies and gentlemen. Edwards, burn that handkerchief it’s heinous-- and Paris, you look awesome today-- tell Kent where you got those shoes, I absolutely must know. Later!”

Lois chuckled as Cat’s employees scrambled around in her wake and took the lead once they were out in the hall. They chatted idly as they took the elevator to the small cafeteria on the first floor. Once settled with a cappuccino with extra foam and a coffee heavy on the sugar for Lois, Cat crossed her legs daintily and leaned back in her chair, tugging her pencil skirt down and tossing her head, though her hair didn’t move an inch.

“Alright, Lo-lo. Spill. And it better be good.”

“Good is relative,” Lois hedged.

Cat arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Lois relented.

“My boss is trying to steal Clark out from under you. He wants to poach him for the Daily Planet.”

“He is, is he,” she said icily. She took a deliberate sip of her cappuccino and tapped her fingers on the table, nails rat-tat-tatting like bursts of gunfire. “Well that simply won’t do. Not after all the work I’ve put into him.”

“I thought you might object,” Lois said mildly. “Clark’s all a-panic, of course. He adores you; doesn’t want to leave. But he doesn’t know how to say no Mitchell either.”

“Mitchell must be mental if he thinks I’m going to let him steal Kent away. He’s the perfect assistant; always on time, eager, a little bit stupid, and infinitely teachable.” She exhaled, flaring nostrils and sharp tone the only indication of her wrath. “No. Clark Kent stays with me. I was going to wait to promote him to column writer until he finished this semester-- wouldn’t want him getting a big head, after all. But good employees willing to work for me are… rare. I’m sure you understand, Lois.”

“You know that I do.”

“Then I’ll talk with Mitchell in the morning. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Lo-lo.”

“Wouldn’t dream of keeping it from you, Cat. Us girls have to stick together, after all.”

\---

Lois fiddled with her press badge before slipping it into her purse, hyper-aware of its presence. It was so light and so heavy all at once-- a key to places she’d only dreamed of getting into before now. She checked the time again and ran another check of her duffle bag. It was packed to the brim, clothes folded to regulation specs, though the typical Army gear had been replaced with her tools of the trade-- paper, pens, tape recorder, heels, makeup, enough hairspray to choke a horse, and a swiss Army knife. She zipped her duffle shut, pressed her hand over her pocket to check her ticket was still there, and looked around her apartment.

Everything was in its place, dishes done, plants watered (though that hardly mattered-- they were already browning at the edges), windows locked, and message recorder set up for the very first time. She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a woosh. She’d only be gone for a week to cover a conference in Chicago-- scut work, really. Nothing to freak about. But it was her first trip as a newly-minted investigative reporter and she could scarcely stand the excitement. She threw her duffle over her shoulder, grabbed her purse, and marched out the door with a glance at her watch. She was already an hour ahead of schedule, but the early bird got the worm and she was damned if she was going to miss out.

\---

“I heard a rumor.” Lois said as she slid into the seat next to Clark in the break room.

“Are you sure you don’t work for Cat? You hear more rumors than I ever do.” Clark took a gulp of his coffee with a smirk.

“Shut up. I heard a rumor that Oliver Queen has gone missing.”

“What, really?”

“Yes, really! His yacht just washed up on the coast and he wasn’t on it. I heard it on my police scanner.” She was buzzing with anticipation; Mitchell was going to flip his lid. Clark guzzled the rest of his coffee and slammed the mug down, already gathering his loose papers.

“Uh, lovely talking with you, Lois. But I’ve got to go— I forgot, Ms. Grant needs me for something.”

Lois sat bolt upright, then scrambled out of her chair after him as he fled the scene.

“Kent, you _rat_ , don’t you dare try and scoop me! _Kent_ ! This is a serious story for _serious_ reporters and if I see one word about this in that gossip rag, I’m gonna skin you alive!”

\---

“How you holding up, Lane?”

Lois hummed, eyed the leftover takeout strewn around her portable typewriter.

“As well as can be expected. Mitchell’s got me doing the same scut work he had you doing before you made editor, but I can’t complain. I’m still just glad to have a job. I can’t believe we pulled that off.”

“Gotta have a little faith in your team, Ms. Lane,” Perry said smoothly. “I’m in your corner and so is Cat. We weren’t gonna let you go that easily.”

She smiled, eyes softening as she twirled the cord of the phone.

“Yeah, a girl just needs a reminder every now and then. How’s Metropolis? Can’t believe it’s been three weeks already…”

“Funny you should ask. We all got a helluva shock last week.”

“What happened? I didn’t see anything in the paper.”

“That’s because nobody knew what the hell to print! Lois, last week a damn gorilla waged war on the city-- a big white sonuvabitch. What’s worse, I hear he could talk.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Lane, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. But you understand now why it didn’t make the paper-- the police are trying to keep it hush-hush and the Planet would be a laughingstock if we’d tried to run the story!”

“But what happened? Is everyone okay? Is the gorilla still out there? I’m dying here Perry, spill it!”

“Everyone’s fine, Lois. Hell, the city’s practically gone back to normal by now.”

She dragged the phone to her bed and collapsed face-up, staring at the ceiling.

“How is everything back to normal when King Kong was just on the loose.”

“Well, for starters, he wasn’t nearly as big as Kong. Do you remember that jumper punk?”

She sat up and frowned into the phone.

“He disappeared a while back. What’s he got to do with anything?” She paused, then gasped and whisper screamed into the phone. “Did he turn into a fucking gorilla, Perry?”

“No, he learned how to fly.”

“He _what_?”

“Yep. And he pulled a few other tricks out of his hat, too-- super strength, laser eyes, and icy breath. Lois, I don’t think he’s a damn meta. I think he’s something else; some kind of Super Man, maybe.”

“A Super Man,” she breathed. “And I missed it.” She fell back onto the bed with a groan. “The story of a century and I miss it.”

“We couldn’t have run it even if you’d written one, Lois.”

“But even the chance to talk to a real Super Man, Perry. G-d, I’d kill for that chance!”

“There’s talk of killing _him_ ,” Perry said darkly. “People are scared, Lois. We don’t know what the hell that thing was-- either of those things. The talking gorilla called itself Ultra-something and I don’t know what the Super Man calls itself. Could be the same thing as the ape. Or a robot. Or an alien for all we know.”

“Oh, get real,” Lois scoffed. “Robots are pipe dreams and aliens aren’t real. And if he was the same as the monkey, he’d _look_ like the monkey. No, I think you’re on to something. I think he’s a Super Man; maybe the next level up from your run-of-the-mill meta. Those are all meta powers we’ve seen before, right? The only new thing is that he’s got more than one. Like that god lady-- Wonder Woman, wasn’t that her name? Maybe he’s a Wonder Man.” She stopped, wrinkled her nose. “No, forget that. I vote we call him Superman from now on. It’s got a nice ring to it. Much better than ‘the jumper’ or Ultra whatever or Wonder Man.”

Perry grunted noncommittally.

“I don’t much care what we call him as long as he doesn’t start thinking about calling _us_ his slaves.”

Lois rolled her eyes.

“Aw, Perry. If he was gonna do that, he’d have done it already with all those powers. Besides, I’ve got a really good feeling about this one.”

\---

Clark shuffled his feet nervously.

“Are you sure about this, Lois? Cat gave me pretty specific instructions on what to do and say. She made me go to etiquette class before I could go to anything and I’m pretty sure protocol dictates--”

Lois slapped him on the arm and straightened his tie.

“ _Protocol dictates_ , you’re a reporter Clark. Hang protocol! But G-d, would it kill you to stand up straight once in your life, Kent?”

“Sorry. Can’t help it-- scoliosis.”

Lois hummed, a hint of regret biting at her before she shoved it down.

“Whatever you say farm boy. Listen, just make sure you ask everyone what they think about Oliver’s disappearance, okay? Between the two of us, we’ll be able to get a killer story, I can feel it.”

“I still don’t know about this…”

“Listen, I’ll say you co-wrote the article if that’s what you want, but please Clark I really need you to do this for me.”

“It’s not that, Lois. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t mention my name at all in your article! I just don’t want to disappoint Cat. She said if I mess this up, she’s going to strangle me herself.”

“An exaggeration,” Lois said brusquely. “Now, are you going to help me divide and conquer or am I going to have to talk to every airhead in this joint myself?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

She stretched up and patted him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Clark. Sometimes you’re a real doll. Now, mind your p’s and q’s and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t tell anyone you’re from _Smallville_.”

She mock-shuddered, straightened her pearls, and shimmied her dress down a bit farther, clucking in annoyance as it caught on her belt.

“Ready, Clark?”

“As I’ll ever be, Lois.”

She offered him her arm and he took it.

“Then off we go to the ball.”

\---

[Image Description Begins. The Daily Planet: Special Edition. Headline: OLIVER QUEEN STILL MISSING. Pictured: The Queen’s Gambit after being run aground, November 1982. Subheading: One year later, where is he now? Article excerpt: Oliver Queen, celebrity playboy philanthropist, was declared missing on November 13, 1982 after his yacht washed up on the coast with no passengers. One year later, police have no leads. Investigative reporter Lois Lane reveals all. Pictured: Close up of Oliver Queen in a blue suit, smiling at the camera with head tilted. End Description.]

\---

The day they ran the exposé, Lois spent all day buried in work for another article. She wasn’t expecting much in the way of a response; it was the first anniversary of Queen’s disappearance and she was sure articles like hers were going to be a dime a dozen. Sure, she’d gone the extra mile on it and taken the time to track down leads and experts that the police hadn’t bothered with. And it was true that she’d written from a human interest perspective rather than taking the usual true crime angle, but it wasn’t anything special.

There would be city-wide buzz for a day or two and then things would go back to normal, just like with any other article. And that was assuming the article didn’t end up a flop. She fully intended to spend every bit of today and tomorrow so buried in work that she wouldn’t know one way or another.

That intention was spoiled when Perry called at lunchtime with the news that morning sales predicted a complete sell-out before the day was up. He called again in a few hours time saying it had actually happened-- there wasn’t a single copy left for sale in the city and they would be doing a second run-- this time shipping out extra copies to newsstands across the nation.

It was the talk of the nation for weeks-- Lois’ heard her points parroted back to her a thousand different ways walking the streets of Metropolis. Why hadn’t foul play been considered by the police? Why had the search efforts been called off a mere two weeks into his disappearance? And most troubling of all, if no one was looking for a billionaire when a sizable reward was being on offer, who would bother looking for the average citizen? The public was so incensed by these points that the search for Oliver Queen began again, as did the search efforts for a dozen other missing persons.

It would be six more months before anything else came of it.

\---

Lois squinted at the picture and scoffed.

“I’m not convinced Jimmy. Since when does Superman wear a cape?”

“He started about a week ago. It makes for a real nice picture, don’t you think? It’s always swaying in the wind and it looks totally rad!”

“I don’t know, Olsen. And what the hell is with the ‘S’ on his chest? What, does he actually call himself Superman now? He really ran with that one, didn’t he kid.”

Clark looked over her shoulder and frowned.

“I dunno, Lois. It probably means something else. I mean, we don’t know anything about him and nobody knows you’re calling him Superman yet, right?”

“Clark, _everyone’s_ calling him the Superman. We just haven’t published it yet.”

“But I think I saw pictures of him in that before you started _calling_ him the Superman.” Clark protested.

“So he was trying to give people a hint. Wait a second- Olsen, is this guy wearing a pair of work boots? Good grief, what an outfit. Work boots, jeans, a black shirt with an ‘S’ on it, and a bright red cape. I wonder if he knows he looks like an asshole.”

“Lois,” Jimmy and Clark hissed, scandalized.

“What? It’s G-d’s honest truth, boys. If he wants to be taken seriously, he’s going to have to step up; any woman would tell you the same.”

\---

The phone buzzed insistently for the second time that morning and Lois groaned before rolling over and answering.

“What,” she said flatly. “Is important enough that you are waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn?”

“Turn on the news.”

“Clark?”

“Lois, turn on the news!”

“Alright, alright, keep your shirt on.” She rolled back over, dragging the phone with her and fumbled for the remote. She flipped the television on and turned to the local news as an anchor was in the middle of a sentence.

“-- found early this morning on the island of Lian Yu. He is currently en route back to the states and sources are saying that he is in stable condition. The Queen’s have not responded to-- my apologies, they have responded. The Queen’s are requesting privacy at this very emotional time as they welcome Oliver back home.”

“Holy _shit_ !” Lois screeched. “They found him?! Clark, did they actually find him _alive_?” Her voice arched up another octave and she could almost hear Clark’s wince.

“Yeah, they found him Lois.”

“Holy shit, I helped find Oliver Queen!”

There was a banging on the wall next to her and a faint shout--

“You’re gonna find my foot up your ass if you don’t shut up!”

Lois winced and forced herself to quiet.

“That’s amazing, Clark.” She smiled to herself. “Thanks for the call; I needed it.”

“Story not going well?”

“As well as anything Mitchell gives me. It’s another dead-end case and the police are being extremely unhelpful.”

“That’s Gotham for you.”

“Don’t I know it. Listen, I need to get ready, but I’ll try to call you later tonight. I’ve got an interview with someone in two hours and Gotham traffic is murder.”

“Later.”

She hung up and allowed herself to luxuriate in the moment, watching the story unfold on the news.

“For those of you just joining us, Oliver Queen has been found alive and well. After he was knocked overboard, Queen found refuge on the uninhabited island of Lian Yu. He is said to be stable and I’m told that we know have visual confirmation. George, can you put that picture on screen?” 

There were a few beats of silence, the anchor staring placidly into the camera, and then a picture flashed up on the television. It was a striking image, showing a radically different Oliver Queen than the world had known before. The difference between a pedigreed show dog-- perfect body and impeccable grooming and pristine manners-- and a flea-bitten mongrel digging through the trash-- slat ribs and caked dirt and snarling. Lois recoiled in surprise, then leaned forward in morbid fascination. She couldn’t imagine how he’d survived alone on the island, but his continued existence had clearly been hard-won.

The picture disappeared and the news anchor resumed their normal morning news, announcing the weather, the traffic report, and the time. Lois flinched at the reminder and flicked off the television.

If she didn’t get a move on, she would be late for her meeting with Harvey Dent.

\---

“Perry. Tell me you didn’t. Perry, I need to know you didn’t do this.”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised Lo-lo,” Cat said languidly. “If he didn’t, I would have. You deserve it, darling. That article was a piece of _work_.”

Lois groaned, buried her face in her free hand, the other still clutching the unopened letter.

“This is so embarrassing. You know this is just a rejection letter, right? That article is hardly worthy of a Pulitzer.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Perry said. “Maybe it was just another exposé when you wrote it, but now it’s the exposé that lead to finding Oliver Queen. And alive, no less. Open it. I’ll bet 20 greenbacks that it’s an invitation to the award ceremony.”

“That’s a sucker’s bet,” Cat snapped. “But I’ll double it.”

“I don’t gamble,” Lois said in a daze, mouth dry.

“Not with money.” Cat retorted with a wicked gleam in her eye. “Oh, just open it, Lo-lo. The suspense is killer.”

Lois tore open the envelope and slid the contents out, eyes wide as she read the letter. And read it again. And read it again.

“Well?” Perry demanded.

“I-” Lois said faintly. “Am going to need a date. And something more upscale than my usual little black dress.”

\---

Lois smacked Clark’s leg and hissed through her teeth.

“Stop fidgeting! I let you come so you could meet more people, not so you could embarrass me.”

Clark pulled at his tie, mussing the angle of his popped collar.

“Are you sure people dress like this to go to these things?”

“Yes, Clark. You are wearing the height of fashion! Cat helped me pick out your suit and everything. Now shut up and help me out of the car. And remember, you’re escorting a nominee, here. If you embarrass me on camera, I will never speak to you again.”

They managed to get through the ring of media outside the dining hall and to their table without incident. Clark was on his best behavior, polite smile pasted on and sticking solidly by Lois’s side. Time moved in jumps and starts as different nominees introduced themselves; Clark did most of the talking, even managing to keep a neutral accent with everyone but the reporter from Texas. Lois could hardly keep track of everyone who came by. 

Most of the nominees that Clark spoke with were veterans of the event; it seemed to Lois that they were made of steel, not a hint of nervousness in their features. She was jealous of their composure; they’d only been at the event an hour and she felt like she was going to barf. Eventually, the last nominees arrived and the event began in earnest. The cloying smell of cologne and hairspray fought with the heady aromas of rich food when everyone packed into the room; Clark insisted that he’d smelled worse at galas, but Lois couldn’t believe it. By the time the emcee began announcing winners, Lois was battling a fierce migraine and hardly paying attention to anything but the pulsing in her head.

Clark elbowed her gently and she blinked in surprise, mouth dropping open as the table erupted into applause.

“Lois, you won! Hurry up, they’re waiting for you.” Clark said through his smile.

She immediately burst into tears.

\---

“How was Star City?” Lois asked as Clark sat in front of her with a tray piled high with his favorites.

“Terrible.” He said seriously. “I almost regret helping you write that article.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Lois, I say this with utmost sincerity. Oliver Queen is one of the most unpleasant people I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

Lois winced.

“Must have been some interview.”

“Oh, he was perfectly polite during the interview. It was what he said. And then after he...,” Clark looked around and dropped his voice into a stage whisper. “Lois, I do believe that man came on to me.”

“Damn,” she moaned. “I owe Cat money. And I guess nobody’s had time to tell him about the whole AIDS crisis since he got back, huh. What shit timing.”

“Lois, be serious!”

“I’m trying, Clark. But every time I think about Oliver and you-- eugh! It’s double illegal-- you’re like, thirteen.”

Clark stiffened.

“Lois, I’m twenty-three.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again-- under twenty-five is barely legal! He’s robbing the cradle, Clarkie.”

“He’s only a year older than me.”

“It’s not about years, Clark. It’s about life experience-- and you’re not done yet, I can tell. After all the shit he’s gone through, Queen’s got to be like thirty mentally.”

Clark snorted.

“And how old are you mentally, oh Wise One.”

“Old enough.” She said tartly. “I always am. Now quit fishing and finish your burger. I’ve got to fly out tonight and we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

\---

“I can’t believe that Superman’s been flying around for almost three years now and no one’s been able to get an interview!” Lois complained.

“Can you blame him?” Perry said. “If I could fly away from anyone trying to pry into my life, I would too. Especially if they might be toting hardware, if you catch my drift.”

Lois frowned and took another gulp of her beer.

“Is it so hard to stand still for five minutes and answer a girl’s questions? That’s all I’m asking for, Perry. Five minutes and all the questions that keep me up at night would be answered.”

“I don’t think there’s anything that could keep you up at night, Lois.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” she said, shoving a finger under Perry’s nose. “I wanna know where the hell he got that new costume. Like, wow. He looks like a, like a preschooler, you know? It’s all primary colors, right? Red and yellow and blue.”

Perry just shook his head.

“If you and Cat had your way, he’d be traipsing around half-naked.”

“No,” Lois said, drawing out the word long and considering. “Not half-naked, just maybe without the damn cape. Do you know, no one’s ever gotten a good picture of his ass? I bet Cat lunch that it’s just average, but she thinks it’ll be fabulous.”

Perry rolled his eyes and went to take a drink of his own beer when a whirlwind whipped through the bar. He sputtered and coughed while Lois fell off her chair, hair flying into her face. Just as quickly as it appeared, the whirlwind disappeared and Lois climbed back upright, swearing. Where her beer had been was a plain white card covered in a simple print, a little blocky and unevenly spaced.

_Lois Lane._

_You have questions. I have answers. Meet me tomorrow on the roof of the Daily Planet, 6pm sharp. Bring a recorder. S._

Scribbled beneath that was another line, crammed into the corner in a much less tidy hand.

_Please do not ask about my butt._

Lois squealed and shoved the card at Perry, stealing his beer for a gulp since hers had mysteriously disappeared. Perry snatched the card away, eyes going round as saucers.

“Jesus Christ, Lane,” he whispered hoarsely. “Do you know what this means?”

“It means Supes heard me talking about his ass.” Lois said, an edge of hysteria leaking into her words.

“Pull yourself together, Lane! This is huge. The Superman wants to do an interview with you.”

“Seems that way,” Lois agreed. She drained the rest of Perry’s beer, made a face, and ordered a replacement glass of her preferred brand from the bartender.

Perry pulled out a pocket notebook from his coat pocket and retrieved the pen that was always sitting above his right ear.

“We’re gonna need to think this one out, Lois. Could be a trap, but we can’t afford to waste this opportunity. Hell, if we pull this off, you’ll have your pick of assignments and I’ll be on my way to Editor in Chief. We might even get old Peeve Bitch-all fired.”

“That…. Sounds like a dream come true. You really think it’s a trap?”

Perry shrugged uneasily.

“Could be. Why do an interview after all this time? And why you specifically?”

“The Queen article? It’s the only thing I can think of. Maybe he was impressed that it actually helped; he seems like the kind of guy that’s into helping people. What with the superhero schtick and all.”

“Maybe. I still don’t trust it. Do you think he’d come if I was there with you?”

She shook her head.

“Coming alone was implied. Maybe you could stay inside the hall to the roof access? If I screamed for help, you could probably hear me.”

“Not that I’d be able to do anything to stop him.” Perry said ruefully. 

“But you’d know what happened. And hey, we could put a second set of recording equipment out. Hide it so if he destroys mine, you still have a copy.”

He sighed.

“Short of having the police there, that’s probably as safe as we can make this interview.”

“And since the police are still trying to apprehend him, it wouldn’t be smart to have them there.”

“Exactly.”

They were quiet for a while, Perry fiddling with his notebook while Lois nursed her drink.

“Is this a good idea, Perry?” she asked quietly.

“Beats me. But I think it’s something that has to be done. And why not us, right?”

They stay at the bar until last call, hammering out the finer details of the interview-- questions and timing and what to do if everything goes pear-shaped. It’s late when Lois gets home. So late it might as well be early.

She doesn’t sleep.

\---

Lois checked her recording equipment for the fourth time in ten minutes and did her best not to stare at the brick ledge that has another tape recorder stuck to it, just out of sight. The wind picked up and took her breath away, the fall chill cutting through her neon patterned windbreaker enough to send a shiver down her spine. A distant blur smeared across the sky and before she could catch her breath, Superman touched down in front of her.

He towered over her, easily topping six feet and the fabric of his costume hugged his frame, highlighting the sheer bulk of him. His jaw was squared and strong, his eyes a piercing blue underneath jet black hair, a single curl flopping forward onto his forehead. His cape snapped, waving like a flag in the wind. There was something Other about him- it could be his perfectly unblemished skin, not quite browned enough to be tan, or his posture, achingly stiff and straight as a board, or perhaps the blandly handsome features of his face, guarded and sharp. 

Lois let herself gawk for an instant, but drew the line when her mouth fell open in surprise. She closed it with a snap and smiled tightly, offering Superman a hand. He took it reluctantly and they shook hands.

“Lois Lane. But you already know that.”

“I believe you call me Superman.” His voice was a pleasant tenor, deeper than Clark’s and infinitely more authoritative. He had a neutral accent that was reminiscent of a news anchor and Lois was almost disappointed it wasn’t a booming baritone or something else more remarkable. Taken altogether, he was almost plain.

“Is there something else I should be calling you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“I’m not a Super Man, but I’ve never been good with naming things. It will do for now.”

“What do you mean, you’re not a Super Man? Are you not a man? Or are you not super?”

“I-” he cut off, jerking around to look at something over his shoulder. Lois craned her neck, but couldn’t see anything out of place. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

He jumped away and Lois staggered forward with the force of his leaving. She laughed at the feeling and ran to the edge to watch him fly. The blur that was Superman darted down into the outskirts of the city and disappeared from sight. She searched the horizon for him, looking for any hint of his return for two long minutes before he popped back up on the skyline. He flew directly to the Planet and Lois gripped on to the side of the brick ledge that lined the roof, bracing herself against his return. She shouldn’t have bothered; he touched down gently, an almost apologetic smile on his face.

“Sorry. There was a fire, but it’s taken care of now.”

“Do you do that often? Fly off in the middle of a conversation, I mean.”

He laughed, and _that_ was a full-bodied, booming thing. 

“Only when the situation calls for it. I wouldn’t dare otherwise.”

She hummed consideringly, pulled out Perry’s notebook and pen-- borrowed for the occasion as a good luck charm.

“Do you mind? I think better when I take notes.”

“Not at all.”

She hesitated, unclicked the pen and switched off her personal recorder which had been running since she got on the rooftop.

“Can I ask you something first? Not for the article. Just for me.”

“You can ask. I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“I just need to know-- why me? Why now?”

He stared at her for a long moment, calculating.

“Because,” he said slowly. “I’m familiar with your work. You’ve always tried to cover the stories that need to be covered. You’ve been honest and fair; you don’t try to twist people’s words.” He smiled. “I guess it just comes down to the fact that I trust you, Ms. Lane. Is that good enough for you?”

“I--” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, blinking away tears. “I think that’s good enough for anyone.” She turned the recorder back on. “Then let’s get back down to business, shall we?”

\---

> [Image Description Begins. The Daily Planet: Special Edition. Headline: INTRODUCING METROPOLIS’ MAN OF STEEL. Pictured: A cloudy skyscape with a brownstone buildnig rising from the lower right corner. To the left of the building, near the center of the picture, is a flying man in silhouette. Subheading: From Vigilante to Superhero: Superman tells all. Article excerpt: First appearing in 1981, Metropolis’ own ‘Jumper’ has captured the imaginations of Metropolis citizens for years. Since his transformation into the Superman three years later, everyone wants to know-- what happened? For the first time ever, the hero tells his story to investigative reported Lois Lane. Pictured: Superman, half in shadow and looking toward the light. He is wearing an early uniform-- a black t-shirt with the ‘S’ symbol on it and a red band around his left arm. End Description.]


End file.
